


90-10

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Relationships are give-take.  Sometimes you give 70% and take 30%.  Other times the tables are turned.  For Blaine it's a 10% give kind of day.  Luckily Kurt picks up the slack.





	90-10

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Blaine turned over onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow, rolling his too-hot cheek against the fabric in a failed attempt to get comfortable.  He couldn't stand the heat that seemed to be slowly roasting him from the inside.  Despite Kurt's stern warnings to stay warm and keep his feet covered at all times, all he wanted to do was kick off the covers and take a quick jog in the brisk, near-freezing New York air to clear his head.  If he could shake the fever, then he would be able to function like a normal human being.  Not miserable and bed-ridden, too weak to shower and too achy to walk around their apartment and stretch the soreness out of his limbs.

They were supposed to be at Rachel's Broadway premiere, and instead Kurt was attending alone while Blaine tried not to die in the quiet confines of their apartment.  Kurt had left him Netflix and ample amounts of saltine crackers and semi-cool Gatorade to tide him over until he returned, promising to pick up more cold medicine on the way.  Blaine wasn't even sure that he wanted more cold medicine - nothing seemed to be helping - but he wasn't in the mood to protest.

Kurt knew everything.  And even if it made him drowsy, at least the medicine took away the worst of the nausea, and the headaches, and the wracking coughs.

The coughing fits were the worst, Blaine reflected, as another round burst free.  He could handle the nausea fairly well, and he was used to the unbalanced weakness that made bed the safest place in their house after three days of sickness, but he hated the coughing.

Kurt had warmed one of his sweaters in the dryer for him before he left, and Blaine clung to the old fabric tightly, willing it to take away some of his discomfort.  All he needed to do was make it until eleven.  Then Kurt would be back with a late dinner (it didn't matter to Blaine what it was; he couldn't taste much) and fit to burst with stories about the evening.  No matter how terribly Blaine was feeling, Kurt would divulge all that had happened with the right prodding and Blaine would listen in rapt attention as Kurt dressed down into his pajamas and climbed onto the bed to watch _Project Runway_ with him for a while.  And then Blaine would fall asleep with his head on Kurt's shoulder and Kurt would tuck them in and they would wake in each other's arms and make the most amazing breakfast ever because Saturdays were their days.

Coughing into his pillow, Blaine almost gagged with the force of it, struggling to sit up when he was finished and slumping back against the headboard.  He'd insisted that Kurt go to the premiere - Rachel would never, ever forgive them if neither of them attended, after all - and he wasn't about to go back on his word.  Rachel needed their support, and Blaine felt awful as it was abandoning them.  He wanted to be there.  He wanted to be in the audience supporting Rachel, bearing a full plume of red roses to congratulate her with after, gleefully dragging her off to dinner at one of the classier restaurants that they usually avoided given their budgets.

It was supposed to be a magical evening for all of them, but Blaine knew that he wouldn't have made it through the first act without vomiting, and he doubted falling asleep halfway through the waiting period for any of the nicer restaurants would have endeared him to Rachel.  Besides, at the time, he'd been riding a Kurt high of cuddling for the better part of an hour while Kurt caught up on his emails, tapping away and rubbing Blaine's head occasionally in the most wonderful way; now, he knew that he would have been lucky to have made it to the Gershwin theater without ending up doubled over in the streets.

No, it was better that Kurt went alone and supported Rachel whole-heartedly.  It had been a struggle to convince Kurt to leave him alone - especially when every instinct rebelled against the thought of being alone and miserable - but he was glad that Kurt had caved to reason and gone.

Glancing over at the clock on their nightstand, hoping to be surprised, he felt his heart sink in dismay as he realized it had only been an hour since Kurt had left.  He still had half an hour before the first act began.

He closed his eyes, hoping to distance himself from his sickness by focusing on the play.  Rachel had been ecstatic to get the role of Fanny in Funny Girl, and Blaine couldn't blame her.  He was excited to see her bring her tremendous talent to a stage that could fully appreciate it, and he ached not to be there on the opening night.  He hoped that she could forgive him eventually and accept his promises to attend all other performances sincerely.  It wasn't like he'd intended to get the flu three days before her premiere: it just happened.

Coughing again, even more despondent than before, he stilled when he heard the door to the apartment open, heart racing as he realized that he couldn't do anything against an intruder.  Closing his eyes in brief, terrible resignation, he blinked in bewilderment when he heard a very familiar voice call, "Blaine?  Honey, are you awake?"

Struggling for words, Blaine coughed again, which seemed to be enough for Kurt as he appeared at the doorway, expression soft with sympathy.  "Oh, honey," he murmured, stepping closer and sinking onto the bed beside Blaine.  Blaine could feel his fingers ghosting through his hair and kept his eyes closed, too comfortable to move.  "Come here."  And then Kurt was pulling him into his arms and it was warm and comfortable and everything Blaine needed.

"What about the play?" he murmured thickly, barely able to form words around the sleep slurring his speech.

Kurt kissed the top of his head and said nothing, and it was only when Blaine awoke another hour - or so; he couldn't see the clock properly with his face half-smooshed in the duvet - that he realized that he was alone.  Kurt hadn't come back at all.

He drifted for a time between sleepy awareness and the warm cradle of oblivion before startling when his phone vibrated near his cheek.  He'd forgotten that he'd left it by his pillow, hastily retrieving it as he picked it up and said in a raspy voice, "Hello?"

"Blaine, you sound awful," Kurt greeted.

"Hi, Kurt."

He could almost hear Kurt's smile on the other end of the line as he replied, "Hi, B.  How are you feeling?"

Blaine made a noncommittal sound that quickly turned into another cough, sniffling miserably once it had passed and mumbling, "Great.  Jus' great."  He didn't need to say that he couldn't remember feeling worse, alone and sick and tired, because he knew that Kurt knew, and telling him again would only make him worry more.  Worse, it might make Kurt drag him to one of the Emergency Care centers for a checkup, and the last way Blaine wanted to spend his evening was on a cold vinyl chair being poked and prodded by nurses.

"Do you want me to come home early?  Rachel's amazing, but I'm sure she'd understand if I missed the next act," Kurt said, nonchalant and compassionate as ever.  It was what Blaine loved most about Kurt: regardless of the circumstances, he always put Blaine first, his concerns, his worries, and it made Blaine's heart clench in his chest even though he knew that he couldn't ask him to leave.  He couldn't.

"No, no, it's fine," he murmured to prove it, feeling a mixture of pride and bitterness that his voice remained level.  Don't come home.  Please, please don't come home.  He couldn't live with himself if no one was there for Rachel during her big Broadway premiere, and while her dads had come in town to see it and half the New Directions had turned out to watch, it felt wrong for Kurt to miss it, her closest friend, her dearest, most understanding companion.

Rachel needed Kurt, and Blaine couldn't ask him to leave her side.  Not tonight.  "I'll be fine," he insisted.  "Just enjoy the play, okay?" His voice came out a little stronger and he was grateful for that much, at least, as Kurt made a soft noise of disagreement.

"If you change your mind," he said at last, "just call me, okay?"

"I promise."

"I'll be home as soon as I can," Kurt promised in return, and Blaine relaxed against the pillows.  It wasn't ideal, but at least Kurt would be back soon.  Kurt made everything better.  "Try to rest, okay?  I love you."

"I love you, too," Blaine echoed, sliding his thumb across the bar to end the call and dropping his phone at his side.  Normally, he would have held onto the conversation for as long as he could, but exhaustion was a heavy blanket on his soul, whisking him away before he could be consulted on the matter.

The next time he awoke, Kurt was there.

"You're here," he said muzzily, relief and sleepiness warring for dominance as he blinked up at Kurt.

"Shh, sorry, go back to sleep," Kurt said, reaching over to brush his sweat-soaked curls as he set his bag aside.  He looked a little rumpled around the edges, air-brushed by New York, but his hands were delicate and warm as they pulled the blanket up to Blaine's shoulders again.  "Let me get you another ice pack."

Kurt was there and back again in the blink of an eye, it seemed, settling another towel-wrapped ice pack over his forehead as Blaine moaned in relief.  "How'd the - how'd the play go?" he asked, eyelids sliding closed as he basked in the coolness.

"It was great," Kurt said, and Blaine could hear him unzipping his jacket and vest as he moved around the room.  "Rachel was amazing.  She even sent her best wishes to you."

"Wow," Blaine mumbled.  He hadn't expected her to remember him in the heat of the moment; he felt doubly ashamed that he hadn't been there to congratulate her in person.  "That's very sweet of her," he told Kurt, who hummed in response as he tugged the sheets away.

Blaine whined in protest, trying to cling to them tighter before shivering when Kurt pulled them off the bed completely.  "Kurt," he mumbled, curling up in a ball near the pillows and willing the blankets to reappear.  He knew that Kurt liked to have as many blankets as possible at night, but it seemed cruel even for him to take advantage of Blaine's weakness and steal all of them.  Or maybe it was just another technique to shake off the fever.  Blaine shivered at the thought; he missed the blankets already.

"Come on," Kurt said, lifting him with a familiar strength and depositing him in the nearest big armchair.  Blaine tucked his cheek against the cool fabric and shivered again, sighing gratefully when Kurt draped one of their old afghans over him.

He drifted for a time, still cloudy from medication and lulled by the sounds of Kurt humming in the background as he put the sheets in the wash and re-made the bed.  Blaine had offered to help the first time only to be shooed away; Kurt had been almost stiflingly protective at the first hint of Blaine's dimmed pallor and sniffling nose, insisting on handling the basic chores even though Blaine knew that he could have managed to buy the groceries or wash the dishes.  Fast forward three days, and he was grateful that Kurt didn't need his help; he doubted that he could have made the bed if he tried.

Already half-asleep, he startled when he felt Kurt's arm around his shoulder, rubbing his back to get his attention.  "Ready?" he asked, kissing the top of his head once and helping him to his feet.  Blaine wobbled unsteadily for a moment before leaning against Kurt for support, releasing the afghan and hobbling after him into the bedroom.

As soon as his cheek hit the cool sheets, he groaned, sagging against the mattress and almost whimpering at the lovely contrast between his formerly hot, sticky ones and the fresh sheets.

Kurt crawled into bed beside him, startling him again as he spooned up behind him.  "Kurt," Blaine mumbled, lacing their fingers together when Kurt wrapped his arms around his belly.  "Kurt."

"Shh," Kurt said, kissing the back of his neck once before stroking his thumb over Blaine's belly.  "I actually got my flu shot, remember?"

"I'm never skipping it again," Blaine vowed solemnly, eyes closed as he listened to Kurt's breathing at his back, strong and smooth and clear.  He wanted to shuffle out of his grasp if only to put distance between his contagion and Kurt's good health, but the irresistible magnetism of Kurt kept him firmly in place.

Kurt knew what was best, and besides, Blaine wasn't about to complain about snuggles.

There were still apologies to be made, stories to tell, meals to share together and, of course, more medicine to dilute Blaine's already fuzzy reality.

But grounded in Kurt's arms, Blaine couldn't have been more content.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
